


Morning Walk

by Andraste



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-01
Updated: 2003-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andraste/pseuds/Andraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The only reason you're here, the only reason that the Liberator was destroyed, is that Servalan was able to use me as bait - don't bother to deny it." AU where Blake really <i>was</i> on Terminal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Walk

"From up here, you get a good view of the countryside," said Avon, easing his companion down onto the outcropping of rock that doubled as a convenient seat. "It's the best defensive position close to the shelter, although the links generally leave us alone these days. They're not quite as stupid as they look."

Blake nodded in reply, too out-of-breath to speak just yet. Neither of them commented upon the way Avon kept a steadying arm against his charge's back as he sank down to sit beside him. Through the palm of his hand, Avon could feel Blake's heart pounding and sense him shaking slightly.

"I'm surprised Cally let you come," he said after a moment. He was almost equally surprised that she had agreed with Blake's suggestion that Avon act as his escort. Although all of them knew the Avon was better able to defend a vulnerable invalid, she had barely let her patient out of sight since he'd started moving around under his own power.

Blake laughed shortly. "Cally says that the fresh air will do me good in controlled doses. Which is the same thing she says about you."

"Is it, now?" Avon raised an eyebrow.

None of them, least of all Blake, had quite adjusted to the rebel leader's weakened condition and need for long-term medical care. Cally and Vila's open joy at having him returned had been quickly replaced by concern. Boredom eventually succeeded that as the crew, accustomed to frequent bursts of adrenaline, was left to sit about on Terminal waiting for Blake to recover and for their transportation to be rebuilt.

It had been two-and-a-half months since the destruction of the Liberator, but they were no closer to escaping from the artificial planet. Servalan's base had sufficient food, water and even weapons to allow them to survive for some time longer, but her vessel had been severely damaged upon landing. Avon prided himself on his adaptability, but rebuilding starships was hardly his field. The project required patience that - unlike time - seemed to be in short supply of late.

It was not an easy situation. Blake's usual good humour had been dented by illness, and his touch with the group was not quite as light and deft as it had been. Much as he would have liked to hand the rabble straight back to the man who was idiotic enough to _want_ to lead it, Avon had been forced into an awkward position. Cally and Vila were keen enough to fall in, and Dayna had taken to Blake quickly, but Tarrant was as intermittently fractious as usual. Nobody wanted to mention Jenna at all.

Avon was accustomed to saving Blake from himself, but protecting him from his own fragile body, and his tendency to push it too hard, was a new uncomfortable experience. The sooner his health improved, the better. He was nevertheless aware that Blake's full recovery was distant. Yet, sitting on the outcropping, wind ruffling his hair, Blake looked as comfortable as Avon had seen him since their reunion. The great outdoors had always suited him, even if he was still getting his breath after the small exertion of the climb. Perhaps Cally knew her medications after all.

"The ship - well, what's left of it - is over there," Avon said, gesturing with his gun. "I'll show you when you're well. Hopefully, it will be sound enough to fly by then."

"Assuming I ever get better," Blake replied. His tone was light, but the words were deadly serious.

Of course. Blake had brought him here for a moment of privacy, as well as healthy exercise. Out here there was no Cally to lecture them about Blake's need for rest, no Vila to pop in and 'cheer up' the patient, no Dayna asking questions or Tarrant starting arguments. They could say all the things that had been festering unsaid for weeks. For perhaps five seconds, Avon was tempted to stand up and walk away.

"It seems that you're already much improved, since our resident medic would hardly have let you out unless ..."

"Don't humour me, Avon. I get enough of that from Cally and Vila," Blake snapped. His temper had always been uneven under pressure, and it hadn't improved with time and tribulations. "We both know that this may be as good as it gets. I could spend the rest of my life - however long that may be - hooked up to machines to replace my kidneys and liver, dependent on drugs to maintain functionality and keep the pain at bay. I'm damn lucky I'm not still breathing by remote and eating through a tube."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that any of that will dissuade you from your insane quest to topple the Federation, or whatever has grown up in its place?"

Blake smiled, a wan ghost of the old grin. "You know me better than that, surely. They'll have to kill me to shut me up."

Avon was not entirely sure that would work, either, but he wasn't going to give Blake the satisfaction of saying so. "Then you have every intention of continuing to fight whoever you decide to make an enemy of next, crippled or not, should we ever manage to extricate ourselves from this situation. I assume that you are asking for my help?"

"I believe you've already given me more than help. The only reason you're here, the only reason that the Liberator was destroyed, is that Servalan was able to use me as bait - don't bother to deny it. You don't owe me anything, and if it was a misplaced sense of duty that brought you ..." In several years of acquaintance, Avon had never known Blake to be nervous about anything, let alone a simple conversation, yet he stared at the horizon as he spoke. "You told me once that you wanted your freedom. If that is what you desire, Avon, it is yours to take."

Once the ship was repaired, he could leave - with or without the others, with or without Blake - and make a new start. He would never have to see the man so close beside him again. For that matter, it would take but a small movement of his hand, a smaller movement of his finger on the trigger, and he would be ... no. He would never be free, especially not after that.

At least he could make a different mistake this time.

"Don't promise something which is beyond your power to grant. That, at least, _you_ owe _me_."

"But if you could have it, that is what you'd want?" Blake was most certainly looking at him now, gaze as measuring and firm as ever.

"Not everyone feels the need to remake the universe around them in a vain attempt to achieve the impossible, Blake. Some of us manage to settle for things we can have."

"Is there something besides your freedom I have to offer you?"

That was testing Avon's patience too far, and he stood up, instantly angry. "I _would_ tell you not to be a fool, but obviously it's far too late for that. Ask of me what you will, but don't mock me."

The most surprising thing about Blake (perhaps leaving his predictable capacity for ridiculous heroics to one side) was his continual capacity to _be_ surprising. Instead of snapping back, he got calmly to his feet wearing - for the first time on Terminal - that irrepressible smile.

"I have no intention of doing that. We could always be fools together ..."

Blake's hand stretching out to twine through his hair was, apart from anything else, a dangerous distraction. It would never do to get them both killed because a momentary temptation had kept Avon from seeing an enemy. There was a difference - in degree if not character - between foolishness and suicidal stupidity.

"I don't think you're up to vigorous physical activity just yet," Avon murmured, gently moving Blake's hand away with his own.

Another smile was pulling at the corners of Blake's mouth. "Why Avon, don't you trust me?"

"Let us say that your reach has always exceeded your grasp."

"I assure you, I feel better already."

For a man who had declared himself almost at death's door minutes before, he seemed awfully eager now. Still, he had made Avon wait long enough to show a little more patience. "In that case, I would suggest that you save your energy for the walk back."

For once, Blake let him have the last word, and they made their way home in what almost qualified as companionable silence, one leaning on the other. If they both held on a bit tighter than necessary, neither of them said anything about it.


End file.
